At the End of This Journey, What Lies Ahead Is a Big Maybe

When I read my husband's notes for the blog ( A Punch in the Stomach ), I felt terrible.  I realized that his words were a direct reflection of my reaction to seeing that the virus was back.  I also realized that I didn't handle it well.

I don't know why but, when Steve was looking through the results, all I could think about was the RNA level.  I think I was looking for ( and expecting ) confirmation that the virus was still gone.  When I saw it had come back, even though the RNA level was only 280, I blurted out "It's 280."  He said, "What are you talking about?"  I said, "Your viral load is 280."  Then he looked back down at the results, then back up at me, and instantly I felt like I wanted to cry, so I turned away.  Steve knew it.  He told me that it was okay.  Everything was going to be okay.  ( How pathetic that he had to console me. )

But it doesn't end there, I was silent through most of the ride home.  Still couldn't look at him.  I felt so sad and so angry.  Not angry at Steve but at the virus- if that makes any sense.  I couldn't understand why it came back, and I started to think to myself, "What did we do differently?   Must be some reason why it's coming back."  So I thought about how stressed out we've been, and I said to Steve that it must be the stress that's stopping him from fighting the virus; and when we get home, I'm looking for a psychologist.  And that's exactly what I did, I went straight to the computer.

In hind sight, I realize that looking for reasons was my way of trying to get some control over the situation. But there is no controlling this virus.  There is no instruction booklet that we can follow to guarantee results.  And at the end of this journey, what lies ahead is a big maybe.  Maybe the virus will be gone.  Maybe he'll still have the virus.  Maybe the virus will go away and come back.  The only control I have is to accept what happens, be there for my husband and move forward.

So Babe, since I know you read the blog, I want to tell you that I am so sorry for not being there for you!  And you don't ever have to feel bad for me.  Even though having the Hep can be hard on both of us, sick or well, there is no one else that I would rather spend the rest of my life with.  I only wish you felt better, for you, not for me.